Game Over
by allthingsdecent
Summary: AU take on Help Me: What if, instead of going to House's place, Cuddy had actually gone back home to Lucas? My first ever Luddy love story. Just kidding, it's totes Huddy.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: So I strugged with whether or not to post this one. First of all, it's another one of my famous "what ifs": What if Cuddy hadn't gone to House's apartment after Trenton, but had just gone home to Lucas? **

**But then it occurred to me: Why mess with Help Me? Help Me is basically perfection.**

**And then, once I began writing it, I realized that, despite a somewhat original premise, it was exactly the same as all the rest of my fics (for a change)—namely, House being jealous, Cuddy struggling with her feelings, etc. Déjà vu, much?**

**But my friends all read it and they were like, "Yeah Max. It's the same as the rest of your fics. NOW POST IT." So, sigh, here it is. Hope you like it.**

**Thanks to KB, Maya, Anne, Frenchie, and Z for putting up with me. - ATD**

By the time Cuddy got home from Trenton, it was past 11. She secretly hoped that Lucas was asleep. It had been a long day, emotionally draining, and she wanted to process—alone.

Of course, he was sitting on the couch, wide awake, waiting for her. (He had this creepy way of sitting perfectly still doing absolutely nothing. Perhaps a habit from years of stake-outs?)

"I was getting worried," he said. Then he added with a nervous chuckle. "I thought maybe this was your way of telling me you were having second thoughts about the wedding."

But his smile dissolved when he got a better look at her.

"My God, babe!" he said, getting up from the couch. "You look exhausted . . and you're in scrubs. . .where have you been?"

"You heard about that crane that collapsed?"

"The one in Trenton? I saw there was tons of medical personnel on the scene. That was you?"

"All the local hospitals pitched in. I was there the whole day. With House."

"House, huh?" Lucas said sarcastically. "Well I'm sure he was a great comfort to the suffering."

"Actually, he. . .was," Cuddy said.

It occurred to her that she didn't want to talk about House. Certainly not with Lucas.

"To be honest, I'd rather not talk about it," she said.

Lucas led her to the couch.

"Of course! Come, sit. . .take a load off. What can I get you?"

"A glass of water would be good," Cuddy said, slumping a bit on the couch.

"Coming right up."

He fetched her the water, then stood behind her, massaging her shoulders.

"You poor kid," he said.

She didn't really want to be touched by him right now, but forced herself not to flinch. It would be insulting.

She closed her eyes but all she could see was House—how hurt he had been when she first told him about her engagement to Lucas, how his hurt had transformed into anger, and then, finally, openness, an honest-to-God moment of vulnerability.

"_I got this," he had said to her, because he didn't want her to have to watch Hannah's amputation. Because he was protecting her, even though he was mad._

". . .don't you agree?"

She realized that Lucas was saying something.

"Wha?" she said.

He smiled a bit. He assumed she was dead on her feet, not daydreaming about another man.

"Let's get you to bed, doctor," he said.

"That's probably a good idea."

####

"You wanna talk about it?" Nolan said.

"Not particularly," House said, stretching out his legs.

"You called me, remember?"

"I didn't say I _wasn't_ going to talk about it." House muttered. "I just said I didn't want to talk about it."

"Okay, then talk."

"I took a vicodin. And by 'a vicodin' I mean, 'half a bottle of vicodin'"

"Why?"

"Because they're delicious."

"House. . .I cancelled my morning for this."

House sighed.

"Rough day yesterday. Lost a patient in the wreckage at Trenton."

"But I thought patients were just puzzles, right? You've said so many times yourself."

"I made the stupid mistake of actually seeing this girl as more than a puzzle. And she died. Because the universe has decided to take a giant dump on me lately."

"And _that's_ why you threw away a year of sobriety?"

"More or less."

"Tell me the more part."

House looked at his hands.

"Suffice it to say, it was a. . . frustrating day in general."

"Just to save time, I'm going cut right to the part where I ask you about Cuddy," Nolan said. "By any chance was she with you in Trenton yesterday?"

House began a slow clap.

"Give that man a medical license," he said.

"So you, what, talked? Argued?"

"Actually, she shared some big news."

"What kind of news?"

House looked at him. Put on a sarcastic smile.

"She and Lucas are getting married!"

Nolan nodded comprehendingly.

"It's all beginning to come into focus . . ." he said.

"Then she told me I was a toxic person who would always be alone!" House continued, with false cheer. "So you can imagine what a great day it was all around."

"What did you say in response?"

"When she told me I wasn't worth loving? I'm pretty sure I didn't say, 'Thank you, Cuddy, can I please have another?'" His voice grew quiet. "I dunno. I yelled at her, I guess. Who remembers what I said? I'm sure I acted like a dick."

"And that's how you two left it?"

"No, she was with me when I told Hannah—my patient— I needed to amputate her leg."

"I know you're not a fan of chopping off legs."

"No."

"So what made you change your mind?"

"Cuddy was right. I kept my leg and look what it's gotten me: I'm just a miserable son of a bitch with a limp."

"I'm sure Cuddy doesn't see it that way."

"Actually she does."

"Well, I'm sure Hannah didn't."

"And now she's dead."

There was a long silence.

"Are you going to take pills again?"

"I don't want to," House said, kicking at the Oriental rug on Nolan's floor.

"Then here's a suggestion: Stay away from Cuddy. She's what sets you off _every time_. You're on a precipice right now, House. You haven't jumped yet, but you're hanging over the ledge. You need to avoid that woman."

######

That night after work, Cuddy made her way to House's apartment. She heard trumpet music—Miles Davis possibly—blaring through the door. Sometimes House used loud music to numb his senses. Another drug, she thought.

She knocked, loudly, but there was no answer.

"House," she yelled. "Open up. It's me."

Almost a minute passed. Finally, he lowered the music, came to the door.

He looked okay. Not exactly great—he was wearing a robe over pajama bottoms and, if possible, he was even scruffier than usual—but he didn't look high either.

"I'm sober," he said, noticing her checking his eyes.

"I know. . I wasn't. . ." She stopped herself. There was no point in lying.

"Wilson told me you used," she admitted.

"I did. Last night. I'm clean now."

"I believe you," she said gently. "Can I come in?"

"I'm not supposed to."

"Not supposed to what?"

"See you."

She was taken aback.

"Why not?"

"Because Nolan said that you _set me off_."

"Do you agree?"

"Of course not. I'm sure it's just a coincidence that our imagined tryst sent me to the loony bin last fall and I had my first relapse in over a year last night."

Cuddy recoiled, visibly stung by his remarks.

He looked at her. He felt bad. He shoved his hands in his robe pocket.

"Why don't you come in, Cuddy?" he said, stepping aside.

She followed him.

"I don't mean to set you off. . .House," she said. "I care about you. I'm your friend."

"Nolan doesn't seem to think so."

"He doesn't know me. Or. . .us."

The word _us_ hung thickly in the air.

Cuddy finally remembered why she had come in the first place.

"Foreman told me about Hannah, House. I'm so sorry. I had no idea," she said.

"Patients die," he said, with a half shrug. (So last night's moment of vulnerability had been temporary. He was back to his old, deflecting self.)

"I know. But I know she meant something to you."

"I'd rather not talk about it," he said tersely. "Look, Cuddy. I'm sorry I didn't come to work today. I had some personal matters to take care of."

"House, of course. I'm not here to give you grief about not coming to work."

"Then why are you here?"

"To see if you're okay."

He looked her straight in the eye.

"I'm fine," he said.

She could see the bandage on his shoulder under his robe.

"And your wound?"

She went to touch it, but he took a step away.

"It's fine. Wilson helped me re-dress it."

"I could take another look at it. . ."

"Don't you have a fiancé to get home to?" he said, somewhat angrily.

Of course he was going to be this way. What did she expect? That he was going to break down in tears in her arms? Beg her not to marry Lucas?

"Yeah," she said slowly. "I guess I better.. ."

She started to leave, then stopped.

"Hannah's funeral is on Sunday," she said. "I'm going to go. I'd like it you came with me."

"I don't go to patient's funerals," he said.

"She wasn't just any patient."

"I'll think about it," he said.

Cuddy nodded.

"Okay," she said. "House, are you sure you're going to be okay?"

"Yeah," he lied.

#####

House, predictably, was a no show to the funeral. And Lucas was on a case—said he'd be late if he showed up at all.

Cuddy sat in the very back—feeling a bit out of place. Hannah had hundreds of friends and loved ones and Cuddy barely knew this girl. And yet, she had been there at the end—saw Hannah's dignity, her courage. She wanted to pay homage to Hannah in her own way.

Cuddy actually kept her shit pretty well together during the funeral until Hannah's mother got up on stage. She was a beautiful, silver-haired woman, with a regal bearing that made her pain all the more unbearable to watch.

"A mother shouldn't live to see the death of her baby," she said. "It violates all laws of God and nature. It's not right. It's just not right."

And Cuddy began to cry.

Suddenly, a strong pair of hands was on her shoulders, steadying her.

She had never known Lucas to have such an ability to comfort and anchor her with his touch.

She looked up gratefully.

But it was House.

He nodded at her. She scooted over and he sat down beside her. The pew was crowded and they were squeezed in. Their bodies touched.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"Better now," she said truthfully.

Hannah's husband was talking now, his voice shaking.

"She was my beautiful girl, ya know?" he said. "She was my life. She was the best part of me."

And House reached over and took Cuddy's hand.

#####

Lucas was meeting Cuddy for lunch at the hospital when he bumped right smack into House in the hallway.

They had been friends once but now they were something closer to mortal enemies.

It was their first time seeing other since Lucas and Cuddy had gotten engaged.

"I guess congratulations are in order," House said, grudgingly sticking out his hand.

"Thank you, House," Lucas said, gloating. "You accept defeat like a man."

House scowled at him. "I'd say the best man won, but we both know that would be a lie."

"I don't know House. Lisa seems to think I'm the best man. And I guess that's all that counts."

"And Leon Sphinx once TKO'd Muhammad Ali," House said. "Go figure."

"You go ahead and be the better man, House," Lucas said. "Be the genius. Be the world-famous diagnostician. I'll just be the guy over here—having sex with my wife."

House gritted his teeth. The unworthy bastard. But what could he do? Lucas had won. He had lost. Game over.

"Just be good to her, okay?" House said.

"Wasn't planning on being bad to her," Lucas said, flippantly. He turned toward Cuddy's office but House grabbed him by the shoulder.

"I'm serious, Lucas. You're a weasel. I know you're a weasel, you know you're a weasel. But Cuddy loves you, for reasons unknown. Hurt her and I'll fucking kill you."

"Get your hands off me, House," Lucas said, trying to shake himself loose.

House stared at him for a second, then let go.

"Just remember what I said," he said.

"You're losing it, man," Lucas said.  
#######

She was dreaming about House—a lot. Dreaming that it was just the two of them at the bottom of that blasted out building—trapped in that snug space for a lifetime. Dreaming of his strong hands on her shoulders at Hannah's funeral. Dreaming of his motorcycle jacket rubbing up against her bare skin. (She had practically fetishized that jacket at this point. He always seemed to be wearing it whenever they had significant breakthroughs in their relationship.)

It confused the hell out of her. She was marrying Lucas. She was _supposed_ to marry Lucas. Because when you have a child, you've made a tacit promise: And that promise is not to bring something reckless and incendiary into your child's life.

She missed House like hell but she wanted to be respectful of his recovery, so she avoided him as much as possible. When they had to interact, they kept things professional.

There had a been a brief moment, in the hallway, right after Hannah's funeral:

"House I just want to. . ."

"I know," he had said. "Me too."

And he kept walking.

#####

Two months after Trenton, the staff held a surprise engagement party for Lucas and Cuddy in the employee lounge.

"You coming?" Wilson said to House, cocking his head toward the party.

"Are you insane?"

"I thought you'd want to come. Show everyone how cool and cavalier you are in the face of adversity."

"Fuck that," House said.

Wilson shrugged.

"We can spike the punch?" he offered.

"Good times. . .but I'll pass."

Wilson hesitated.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Just great."

"Okay. I'm going in."

After Wilson left, House tried to focus on a case file, but kept getting distracted. He played a few rounds of Angry Birds on his phone, but kept flaming out on Level 13.

He could hear laughter, a general buzz of merriment coming from the lounge.

A few times, he was pretty sure he could make out Lucas's voice and Cuddy's unmistakable laugh.

He grabbed a pack of cigarettes—he'd been clean for a month, but an old bad habit from Mayfield had re-emerged—and headed up to the roof. His sanctuary.

But when he got up there, his sanctuary was already occupied. By none other than Lisa Cuddy.

She was standing over the ledge, looking out at the horizon. She seemed lost in the thought.

"Aren't you supposed to be at your engagement party?" he asked.

She started.

"Jesus, you startled me, House," she said. "What are you doing up here?"

"Smoke break," he said, pulling a cigarette from the pack. "Want one?"

She wrinkled her nose.

I shouldn't. And since when do you smoke?"

He shrugged.

"I'm just trying to piss off the Surgeon General." He pulled out his lighter. "Do you mind if I. . .?"

"Knock yourself out. It's not my roof."

"Actually, it kinda is."

She laughed.

"I don't own the building, House."

"The more interesting question, Cuddy, is, What are _you _doing up here?" House asked.

"Hiding," she said.

"From what?"

"Surprise parties. Ugh. I mean. . .I know everyone meant well."

"But surprise parties are an excruciating form of social torture."

"Exactly," she said, relieved that he understood.

"And Lucas?"

"Having the time of his life. Anytime he gets to be the center of attention he's happy," Cuddy said.

"He just likes to show you off," House said. "Can't say I blame the guy."

They looked at each other.

"I miss talking to you, House," she said. "More than you know."

"I miss you, too," he admitted.

"Do you think maybe we can break the Nolan-imposed embargo? All this professionalism between us has been rather tedious."

He smiled.

"I promise to be less professional from this day forward."

"Thank you."

She held out her hand, for the cigarette.

"On that note, gimme," she said.

He smiled, handed her the cigarette. She took a small sexy puff, gave it back to him.

The cigarette had a bit of her lipstick on it. He put it in his mouth, took a drag.

"How are wedding preparations?" he asked.

"Routine, I guess," she said. "Cake. Flowers. Caterer. Hellish in-laws. Nothing special. Did you get the save the date card?"

"You know I'm not coming to your wedding, Cuddy."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

She sighed.

"I guess. I just thought you could liven things up a little. Heckle the DJ. Make an inappropriate toast. Keep me from being bored out of my skull."

"You're not supposed to be bored at your own wedding, Cuddy," he said.

"And I'm also not supposed to be hiding from my own engagement party. Life is strange like that."

"I guess so."

"Speaking of which. . . they're going to unleash the bloodhound known as Lucas any minute now so I better go. Shall we make an appointment to take an extremely unprofessional smoke break up here tomorrow? Say, 11 am?"

"It's a date," he said, smiling.

She gave him an adorable little wave and headed back down the stairwell.

He watched her walk away, then shook his head.  
Why did everything have to be so hard all the time?

He smoked another cigarette and headed back down himself.

Much to his surprise, Lucas was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

"What's in your pocket, House?" he asked.

House smirked at him.

"Is this some sort of party game? Because if you guessed an Indian Head Buffalo nickel. . .you're wrong!"

"I guessed cigarettes," Lucas said, reaching into House's jacket pocket.

"As an idiot once said: Get your hands off me," House said.

But Lucas had pulled out the pack of cigarettes.

He waved them in House's face accusingly.

"You're a genius, Lucas. An ex addict has cigarettes. What will you find on me next? A stethoscope?"

"I knew you had cigarettes, because my fiancé left the party for 45 minutes and emerged smelling like a smoke stack.. . and I thought, 'What asshole would take a woman away from her own engagement party and make her smoke?'"

"I didn't _make_ her do anything," House said. "Cuddy doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do. The sooner you understand that, the happier you'll be. And I didn't take her away from the party. We ran into each other by accident."

"Sure."

"Ask Cuddy."

"I'm not talking to Cuddy. I'm talking to you."

"Well, I don't find you to be a very interesting conversationalist, so . . . see ya!"

He began to limp away.

Lucas grabbed his arm.

House looked at him.

"I'm not going to say it twice Lucas," House said.

"What are you going to do about it?" Lucas said, tightening his grip.

"This," House said, shoving him—hard.

Lucas staggered backwards, fell on his ass.

"You asshole!" he said, popping up.

The he slammed House against the vending machine. The machine teetered a bit, but didn't fall. House's cane went flying.

In moments, they were going at it—shoving, wrestling, swinging wildly at each other (they each landed one good blow—Lucas, squarely on House's mouth and House, right over Lucas's eye).

The party guests heard the commotion and came running.

Chase and Foreman grabbed Lucas by the arms and Wilson held House in a bear hug from behind. House struggled to break free.

"Lemme go!"

"Easy big guy," Wilson said.

Cuddy was late to the scene. She stared at the little tableaux incredulously.

"Are you two out of your minds?" she screamed.

"He started it," they both said, pointing at each other.

Cuddy took a look at House, who was still being held back by Wilson, but in a token sort of way. He had stopped resisting.

"Your lip!" she said. "You're bleeding."

She reached into her purse to get a tissue. She began dabbing his lip.

House winced a bit.

"What about me?" Lucas said. "He gave me a black eye. "

"What the hell was this all about?" Cuddy said.

"It was nothing," House said, looking at the floor.

"Just a misunderstanding," Lucas agreed.

All eyes were on them. By the next day, the hospital would be abuzz with gossip of Dr. House fighting with Lucas over Cuddy. (Rumors would vary: In one version, Lucas caught House and Cuddy having sex in her office; in another version, House threatened to kill Lucas if he married Cuddy; in yet another version, Lucas and House were the ones in love). No matter what, it was an embarrassment for the three of them—especially the pretty female dean.

"I'm going home," Cuddy said, disgusted.

"I'll drive you," Lucas said.

"I have my car. Why don't you sleep if off at Sal's tonight. I don't want to look at you."

She began to walk away.

"Lisa! Wait up!" Lucas said, and he followed Cuddy toward the garage.

Wilson found House's cane, handed it to him.

"That was special," he said.

"Have I told you how much I hate that guy?" House said.

"You've mentioned it a couple of times."

Wilson looked at his watch.

"Drink?"

House shrugged.

"As long as it isn't spiked punch."

######

At exactly 11 am the next day, House made his way up to the roof. He was worried that, after the scene he and Lucas had caused, Cuddy wouldn't show. She'd been pretty pissed.

The roof was empty. He frowned, lit a cigarette. Fuck.

"Hey slugger," Cuddy said.

He turned, trying to conceal his glee.

"Hey," he said.

He handed her a cigarette. She gave a little sneaky smile, put it in her mouth. He cupped his hand over the cigarette, lit it for her.

"I'm a discredit to our profession," Cuddy said.

"Ha, welcome to my world."

She smiled.

"What was that all about last night?"

"What did Lucas say?"

"I don't know. We haven't talked."

So he _had_ crashed at Sal's place. House tried not to read too much into this.

"It was just dumb guy stuff," House said, taking a drag. "Lucas thought I stole you or something from the engagement party. I said, You're not the boss of her. He said, Am too! I said, Am not! … Very intellectual stuff."

Cuddy shook her head. Then she stuck out her chin a bit.

"He's not the boss of me," she said.

"Nobody is," House said. And he wiped a stray ash off her cheek.

######

They started meeting on the roof everyday. Each time the visit got a little longer. Each time, the goodbye got a little harder. At some point, they began hugging goodbye. And then one day, as they were hugging, Cuddy unexpectedly found his mouth, gave him a tiny kiss. It was such a small kiss, it could've been construed as friendly, even accidental. Her lips had parted a little—he could taste the very tip of her tongue, and a tiny thread of saliva had briefly connected them—but what did it mean?

He spent that whole night obsessing over the kiss. It was like torture to him—a crumb, a morsel, when he what he needed was a whole meal.

The next day, she kissed him again, in the exact same way. He looked at her, achingly. Then she inhaled a bit—as if about to jump off a ledge—and grabbed his face and kissed him fully on the mouth. Her lips were parted and her tongue was in his mouth, and he pulled her closer, wanting to _feel _her desire, the heat of her body against his, her breasts against his chest, her intoxicating combination of delicacy and strength.

Eventually, they began kissing the moment they saw each other—like teenagers slipping away after homeroom—hot, furtive little makeout sessions on the PPTH roof. It was all House could do to concentrate on work.

And then, one day—they had gotten to a point now where reaching under the clothing and groping for bare skin had become routine—Cuddy said: "We can't keep doing this"—and pulled away.

The wedding was scheduled for Saturday.

"I know," he said, slightly out of a breath.

"I'm getting married."

"I know."

"I'm sorry House."

"Me too."

He was dreading Saturday's wedding like another man might dread a funeral.

######

The day of the wedding, House was over at Wilson's place, killing time on what he knew was going to be the longest day of his life.

Wilson emerged from his bedroom, dressed in his tux. He did a little spin.

"How do I look?"

"Like James Bond's accountant."

Wilson made a face.

"I thought I looked good," he said, Then he swatted at House's Nikes. "Get your feet off the coffee table," he said.

House swiveled, put his feet on the couch.

Wilson rolled his eyes, said nothing.

"So. . . how you feeling about all this?" he said.

"About what?" House said, playing dumb.

"Oh, I don't know. Woman of your dreams. Marrying some other guy. . ."

"Oh _that_," House said.

"I've been noticing a lot of smoldering, longing glances lately."

"If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times. . .I don't think of you that way, Wilson."

"Ha."

House began tossing a pillow in the air. He tossed it so high, it hit the ceiling fan.

Wilson looked at him.

"There's a reason they call it a _thro_w pillow," he said.

"You're avoiding the question."

"I'm fine," he lied.

"But seriously, what's going on between you two lately? You even talking to each other?"

"We're talking," House said. "A little." (Mostly kissing.)

"And you've made peace with this wedding?"

"Like the Dalai Lama," House said.

"I wish I could blow it off, to be honest," Wilson said, adjusting his tie in the mirror. "Lucas is such an annoying little weasel."

"Have I ever told you how much I love you, Wilson?"

#########

The events leading up to the ceremony were a bit of a blur to Cuddy.

There were makeup and hair artists at home, then the long drive to the grand old hotel where the wedding was to take place. Then the incessant fussing and happy chattering of her bridesmaids, her mom, and Julia.

Only Rachel managed to focus and calm her.

"You look so pretty mama," Rachel said. "Like a princess."

Cuddy smiled.

"Thanks sweetie. So do you."

"Can I come on your honeycomb?" Rachel asked.

"Honeymoon," Cuddy corrected. "And no, it's just for me . . . and Lucas. But I'll be back before you know it. And you'll have loads of fun with Aunt Julia. "

Rachel made a pouty face.

The string quartet was playing Pacabel's Canon—her cue.

"They're ready for you," her wedding planner said.

"Next time I see you, I'll be married," Cuddy said.

"Me too!" Rachel said brightly.

Cuddy laughed. There was no time to explain. She kissed Rachel on the top of the head and handed her off to Julia.

Since Cuddy's father was dead, Dr. James Wilson had the honor of walking Cuddy down the aisle.

"You look beautiful," he whispered.

"Thank you," she said, squeezing his arm a little too tightly.

Lucas was waiting for her at the end of the aisle, and rocking nervously on the balls of his feet. His best man was a guy named Sal, who owned a fleet of cabs. Cuddy hated him. Sal winked at her.

The judge started the service. Sal made a big joke about misplacing the ring, slapping the pockets of his tuxedo nervously, and everyone laughed.

Lucas did his vows first.

"I promise to love and treasure you, and remove all bugs, recording devices, and video cameras from your home," he cracked. More laughter.

Then the judge turned to Cuddy.

"And Lisa, I understand you have prepared some vows?"

Cuddy hesitated. She felt her face grow hot. She could hear her own breath, as though she was scuba diving underwater.

Lucas smiled at her, coaxingly. He raised his eyebrows.

"Babe," he whispered. "That's your cue."

She stared back at him. The room was spinning.

"I . . .can't do this," she mouthed. "I'mso sorry."

She she turned to the crowd

"I'm sorry," she said a little louder.

And she ran down the aisle.

#####

House was alone in his apartment, playing the piano.

The blues were meant for days like this. So was scotch.

He took a swig.

There was a knock at his door.

He was puzzled. Everyone he knew was at that damn wedding.

He opened it.

There, standing in his doorway, was a vision in white, a wedding refugee, her face streaked with tears, somewhat out of breath.

"House," Cuddy said. "Get me the fuck out of here."

THE END


	2. Chapter 2

**When I said I was giving you an alternate take on Help Me, I wasn't kidding. Hope you like this version of events. xo**

"Try her again," Arlene said.

"Mom, I just tried her 5 minutes ago, she's not answering."

It was an hour after Cuddy's runaway bride routine, and Arlene, Julia, Lucas, and Wilson—who had been roped into this little pow wow against his will—were sitting together in the bride's lounge, trying to make sense out of it all.

"Did she give you any indication that she had cold feet? Anything?" Arlene demanded.

Lucas, who had been quiet up until this point, staring straight ahead, absorbing the humiliation of what had transpired, finally said wearily, "She's with House."

"House?" Arlene said.

"Gregory House?" Julia said.

"I thought she was done with all that House nonsense," Arlene said.

"He. . .he. . .has some kind of hold over her," Lucas moaned. All eyes turned to Wilson.

He held up his hands.

"Don't look at me," he said. "I know nothing."

"But is it true?" Julia said. "Lisa and House are still . . .close?"

Wilson thought about House and Cuddy, their secret language, their endless preoccupation with each other, their smoldering looks.  
"You could say that," he said.

"I thought once he went to the loony bin, she realized what a nutjob he was and washed him out of her system," Arlene said.

"No," Wilson said.

"_No?_ No what?"

"No, she didn't wash him out of her system. She'll never wash him out of her system."

"Then why the hell did she agree to marry Lucas?" Julia said.

"Because she loves me," Lucas said, unconvincingly. "House has her confused. He . . . twists things."

"Call him," Arlene said to Wilson.

"House?"

"No, the King of Brunei. Yes, House."

"I doubt he'll pick up. . . last I saw him, he was going home to drink heavily. He's probably long passed out."

"Try anyway," Arlene said, in a voice that made it clear it wasn't a suggestion.

Wilson sighed. Dialed.

The phone rang and rang and rang.

"See?" he said. "No answer."

#####

"Where are we going?" House asked.

They were in his car, driving down the Jersey Turnpike.

"Just drive," Cuddy said.

She had changed out of her wedding dress—leaving it in a diaphanous pile on the floor of House's bathroom—and was dressed in a pair of House's sweatpants, drawn tightly at the waist, and one of his old concert tees. Her hair and makeup were still done for the wedding, creating an odd discord.

She leaned her head against the car window.

House looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"You wanna talk about it?" he said.

"Not yet," she said.

"Okay."

This was one of the things she liked about House. He understood the virtue of not talking. He was never stressed out by silence.

After an hour or so, she finally said, "I couldn't do it, you know? I couldn't marry Lucas under false pretenses."

"What false pretenses?" House said.

"That I love him," Cuddy said.

He tried not to smile.

"Oh, _that_," he said.

Cuddy turned toward him, her face now pressed up against the headrest. She looked a bit like a sleepy child on a long road trip.

"See, the thing is, I'm in love with someone else," she said, softly.

"Who?" he said. He needed to hear it. Needed her to say it.

"Taub," she said, with a tiny giggle. "_You_, dummy."

"Just checking," he said. "I thought maybe I was just a glorified chauffeur."

"Love of my life _and_ glorified chauffeur," she said, closing her eyes, beginning to drift off.  
_  
Love of her life_. House could've cried.

"Just in case there was any doubt," he said. "The feeling is mutual."

But she was sound asleep.

####

The wedding party all drove to House's place, together.

Wilson tried to beg out but found "I have other plans," was not very convincing when, for all intents and purposes, he was scheduled to be eating wedding cake and tipsily line dancing at this very hour.

Lucas banged on the door.

"Lisa!" he screamed. "I know you're in there!"

No answer.

"Get out of the way," Arlene said, brushing Lucas aside.

Then she said, coaxingly, "Honey, it's mom. We're not mad. Just let us in."

Still no answer.

"Answer the fucking door!" Arlene barked.

"I don't think anyone's home," Wilson offered.

"Then let us in," Lucas said.

"Wh. . what?" Wilson stammered. "This isn't my apartment. It's House's."

"We all know you have a key to his apartment, Wilson," Julia said. "The mind reels just trying to imagine the number of times you had to break in to make sure he wasn't lying in a pool of his own vomit."

"I. . .I. . .do have a spare key, but I left it in my other pants," Wilson lied.

"Then I'll break in," Lucas said, pulling out a Swiss Army Knife. "Might do some damage to the lock, though."

Wilson watched as Lucas grabbed a small, knife-like instrument and began to poke it in House's keyhole.

"Wait!" he said sheepishly. "I. . .forgot. I do have the key after all."

He opened the door. The apartment was dark, empty. They turned on a light.

"House?" Wilson said. "It's me. . .and Lucas. . .and a lot of angry Cuddys."

No answer.

"Guys! Get in here!" It was Julia, who had wandered into the bathroom.

They all stared at the discarded, bunched up wedding dress, in horror.

"He kidnapped her!" Lucas said.

"I . . . strongly doubt that it was a kidnapping," Wilson said.

"But what else could it be? Lisa would never just leave me at the altar, come here, not call," Lucas said.

"I smell a rat," Arlene agreed.

"That could just be Steve McQueen," Wilson cracked.

They all looked at him.

"Nevermind. Inside joke," he said. Then he folded his arms.

"I think it's pretty obvious what happened here," he said.

"Enlighten us," Arlene said.

"Cud—Lisa got cold feet. She came here. She and House ran away . . . together."

"Or he took her. Against her will," Lucas said.

"That doesn't track logically," Wilson said. "She left the wedding on her own. Nobody made her come here."

"Maybe she came here for some advice. Some friendship. But she would never just leave with him. Without Rachel."

"Speaking of which, where is Rachel?" Wilson asked, concerned.  
"With the nanny," they said in unison.

"I'm going after them," Lucas said.

"I'm sure that's not necessary," Wilson said. "I'm sure they'll call. . .soon."

He looked nervously at his watch. It was 11 pm.

C'mon, pal, he thought. Call.

#####

Just past midnight, House pulled into the Black Eyed Susan Inn off I-95.

He nudged Cuddy on the arm.

"Hey," he whispered. "I thought we'd crash here for the night."

She opened her eyes groggily, assessed the half-empty parking lot, the flashing neon sign.

"Cool," she said. "They have HBO."

They walked up to the clerk.

"We need a room," House said.

"Double or single?" the clerk said.

House glanced at Cuddy, not sure.

"Single," she said, as though their sleeping arrangement was predetermined, some sort of routine thing.

The clerk handed them the keys and they made their way to the second floor.

Cuddy almost immediately sacked out on the bed.

"Gotta pee," House said.

He went to the bathroom, looked in the mirror.

Be a gentleman, he told himself. She's exhausted. She's confused. Don't take advantage of the situation.

He took a deep breath, splashed cold water on his face. Man up, Greg, he thought.

But when he got out of the bathroom, Cuddy was standing in front of the door, completely naked.

"Hi," she said, with an adorable shrug.

He'd fantasized about her just like this—naked and vulnerable, fully offering herself to him—more times than he could remember. But it was nothing like the real thing.

She was, in his mind at least, the female body in its perfect form—both slender and voluptuous, pillowy and taut—the same intoxicating mixture of strength and softness that had always made her his ideal woman.

But it was her face that killed him: Her lips were slightly parted and she looked hopeful and lustful and ever so slightly scared, as if there was the tiniest chance that he might not like what he saw. As if that was even a remote possibility.

"Oh my God," he said.

He met her parted mouth with his own, kissed her greedily, stroking and caressing every inch of her flesh. His hands moved from her ass, to her waist, then lingered on her breasts—her impossibly perfect breasts—then his fingers made their way between her legs. Her folds were velvety soft and hot and wet—and his own desire was so white hot, he thought for a second he might pass out.

They fell back on the bed and her hips rose to meet him and then she was guiding him inside her—and he grinded against her, slowly at first, trying to savor the moment—until neither of them could take it any longer and their moans grew louder and their movements grew faster, and they both came, simultaneously.

"Oh my God," House said again, collapsing back on the bed, panting, coated in sweat.

"Oh my God," she echoed. And she kissed his hand.

#####

This was how she knew she had made the right choice. Not just because House was a thousand times better lover than Lucas. Hell, he'd been a better lover than Lucas when he was 23 years old. (Even their recent clandestine make out sessions on the roof—the ones that left her with the female equivalent of blue balls—had been more erotic, more satisfying, then a whole night of lovemaking with Lucas.)  
It was this: She never felt more alive than when she was with Gregory House. Colors were brighter. Food tasted better. Anger was more fierce. Jokes funnier. Orgasms more mind blowing.

She had done a horrible thing—humiliated Lucas, run away from her family, left a million questions in her wake.

But nobody could ever tell her that being with House was a bad thing. Nothing that felt this right could possibly be wrong.

#######

They spent the next day holed up in the motel room, making love, watching TV, doing nothing.

Eventually, House got out of bed, pulled on his jeans. Cuddy groaned, reached for him.

"Where are you going?" she said, in a sex-sated voice.

"We need sustenance," he said.

"I have all the sustenance I need right here," she said.

He smiled, kissed her on the mouth. One kiss was all it took for him to be at attention again. But he had work to do.

"I remember reading about this once in med school," he said. "If we don't eat, we'll die. A very sexy, very pleasant death, mind you—but death nonetheless."

He took one last look at her—naked on the bed, a thin white sheet covering half of her body—and had to force himself to leave.

He went to the poorly stocked convenience store attached to the motel—found some granola bars, some bottled water, two rather sketchy looking bananas—and shrugged. It would have to do.

"That was one step above dumpster diving," he said cheerfully when he got back.

But she wasn't alone. Lucas was standing in the room, with two police officers. One was tall, with a mustache. The other was balding and fat.

Cuddy was standing beside the bed, with the sheet wrapped around her tightly, talking to the one of the cops.

"That's him!" Lucas said, pointing at House. "That's the man who kidnapped my bride."

"Wow," House said. "That's quite an elaborate fantasy you've spun there, Lucas."

House looked at the cops.

"Are you guys actual cops or are you about to strip? Because if you're strippers—Lucas, you should demand your money back."

"Shut up, Dr. House," mustache cop said. "We're just trying to get the bottom of what happened here."

"Well, one thing's for sure, Cuddy definitely _didn't_ jilt Lucas at the altar and run away with me. And we definitely _haven't _been making sweet sweet love for the past 24 hours."

"House. . ." Cuddy warned.

"You see?" said Lucas. "He takes nothing seriously. Everything's a joke to this guy. He respects _nothing_."

"I see that," said the balding cop. "But that doesn't mean he kidnapped your wife."

"Fiancé," Cuddy said.

"_Ex _fiancé," House said.

"Ma'am," the first cop said to Cuddy. "Did you go with this man"—he gestured to House— "by your own free will?"

Cuddy looked up apologetically, at Lucas.

"Yes, officer. I did."

"Babe, that's crazy," Lucas said, approaching Cuddy. "Come home with me. We don't need to get married right away. Maybe we rushed things. We can wait. Go to couples therapy. Just live together. Whatever you want."

Cuddy looked at him, not without pity.

"Lucas, I can't. . . I'm sorry. I don't love you. I love . . . House."

Lucas grabbed her arm, a little too tightly.

"You do too love me!" he said.

House stepped toward him.

"Let go of her Lucas," he said.

The tall cop put his hand on House's shoulder.

"Easy buddy," he said. Then he turned to Lucas: "And let go of Dr. Cuddy's arm, Lucas."

Lucas let go, looked at the two cops helplessly.

"Are you going to arrest him, or what?" he said.

"I'm very sorry about your wedding, sir. But it's obvious that no crime has taken place here."

"This is insane! He's crazy. He's going to hurt her! He's got a history of mental illness! Look it up!"

"I think it's best if we just left these two alone," the balding cop said, guiding Lucas to the door. "Sorry for your trouble."

"This is all so awkward," House said. "Can I at least offer anyone a granola bar?"

Cuddy turned to House.

"House," she said. "I need a moment with Lucas. . . alone."

"Are you kidding me?" House scoffed. "No way!"

"It's okay," she said.

House's looked at the two cops—as if they might provide some sort of backup— then looked back at Cuddy.

"At least put some clothing on!" he said.

Cuddy tightened the sheet around her.

"I'm fine," she said. "Give us 5 minutes."

House frowned, followed the two cops out the door.

"Five minutes," he said, pointing at his watch.

Now Lucas and Cuddy were alone.

"Lucas, I'm so sorry," she said.

"I forgive you," he said, stepping toward her, as if to give her a hug.

She stepped back. Her body language was stiff, cold—it was like they were strangers.

"I'm sorry Lucas. Words can't express how sorry I am. I just couldn't marry you."

"But . . . _why_?"

"Because I love him. I've been trying to pretend that I don't. But I can't pretend anymore."

"This is insane. He's brainwashed you. You're . . . under his spell."

In a way, that was true. They'd been under each other's spell for years.

"I know I did a terrible thing," she said. "But it's better this way. Imagine if we had gone through with the wedding? Gotten married—with me, all the while, in love with another man?"

"So what am I supposed to do—_thank_ you?" Lucas said, bitterly.

"No, of course not. The truth is, there's no excuse for what I did. And I can never apologize enough."

"Then don't apologize. Come home with me, Lisa. It's the right thing to do. If you stay with him, he'll ruin your life."

"He is my life," she said.

#####

A few minutes later, a deflated Lucas trudged out of the motel room.

The motel walls were thin, House had heard almost everything from the hall. (He vaguely wondered if the guests had heard him and Cuddy having sex all those times. They hadn't exactly been. . . quiet.)

He wanted to gloat, to say something withering and cruel.

But he remembered that moment, when he'd gone to see Cuddy in her room at the medical conference and found Lucas there—remembered how crushed he had been, how hurt.

He actually felt for the guy.

"I'm sorry, Lucas," he said quietly.

"Fuck you, House," Lucas said, and kept walking.

"Charming," House said. He shrugged, entered the room.

"I'm your life?" he said, with a slight smile.

"Eavesdropping is rude," she said, smiling back.

"The walls are wafer thin," he said. "And so's that sheet."

He pulled it off her, began to kiss her neck.

"What about our feast?" Cuddy laughed.

"It can wait."

#####

They stayed in the motel for two more days (they did leave once, to get dinner at a roadside diner—the waitress called them "lovebirds").

On the second night, they were lying in bed, eating a bag of chocolate chip cookies.

"We should probably start thinking about our re-entry plan," House said.

"Re-entry?" she said.

"Back to real life. To PPTH," he said.

She closed her eyes.

"I don't want to think about that," she said.

"But we have to."

It was a bit of role reversal for them. Usually Cuddy was the sensible one.

"I'm sure we're the talk of the hospital. We'll never live down the scandal."

"So what?" House said, reaching for another cookie.

"So … my reputation is in shambles. My role as an authority figure is compromised. It's—to borrow a phrase—a hot mess."

"I'll have your back," House said. "I'll defend you. I'm extremely good at saying, 'I know you are, but what am I?'"

She smiled at him wearily, then sighed. "I know we have to go back, eventually. I'm just trying to delay the inevitable because the thought fills me with dread."

House shrugged, munched on a cookie.

"Then let's not go back," he said.

She looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, let's get Rachel, skip town. Start someplace fresh. Last I checked, doctorin' was one of those professions that travelled well."

"You know I can't do that, House."

"Why not?"

"Because I have . . responsibilities. As an administrator. As a mother."

"I didn't say leave Rachel behind. She'll come with, of course. You think she cares where she lives? By the time I was her age, I had already moved 4 times. As long as she's with you, she'll be fine."

"What? You're ready to be her . . . father? You don't even know her, House."

"She's a kid. She has, like, 18 vocabulary words. What are we going to do? Argue about geo-global politics?"

Cuddy gave him a look. He sensed he had said the wrong thing.

"If you love her, I love her," he said gently. "By default."

She smiled, despite herself.

"And the hospital?"

"Fuck em," he said.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. He had said the wrong thing again.

"Or. . .stay on as a long distance consultant until they find a replacement. Let's face it, Foreman has been gunning for your job for years. This is his 'be careful what you wish for' moment."

"You have this all figured out, huh?" she said.

"Nope. I'm winging it. But it's viable plan."

"And my mother? My sister? Your _Wilson?_"

"I didn't say we were going into the witness protection program. Just leaving Jersey. And we can strap Wilson to the roof."

Cuddy leaned back on the pillow.

"Okay," she said. "Let's run away together."

House's mouth dropped open. He had just been thinking out loud. Spitballing. Never in a million years did he think she'd actually agree to his hare-brained plan.

"Okay," he said.

#####

House called Wilson, told him about their plan.

"Wow, that's a big step," Wilson said, whistling.

"And now's when you try to talk me out of it, right?" House said.

"No," said Wilson thoughtfully, much to House's surprise. "I think a change of venue might be just what the doctor ordered, for both of you. No pun intended. But I'll miss you."

"Don't get sentimental, Wilson. They have these things called airplanes now."

And Wilson laughed.

#####

They bought a car seat from Target, had the nanny pack an overnight bag, and picked Rachel up the next day.

"Who are you?" she said to House.

"That's House," Cuddy said. "He's mommy's special friend."

"But not special in the needs-a-drool-cup sense of the word," House explained. "Special as in: Mommy prefers my company to that of all others—except you, of course. Actually, sometimes she prefers my company to yours. But you're too young to understand why."

Rachel squinted at him. She had no idea what any of that meant, but she liked the grownup way he talked to her—he was funny.

"You're silly," she said.

"Thank you," House said.

"So," Cuddy said. "Where we headed?"

"I hear Portland is lovely this time of year."

"Maine or Oregon?"

"Who cares?"

THE END


End file.
